Running Scared

From the height of the rostrum
We can only view all plagues
But they can only be seen
They cannot be changed

From the depths of your valley
To the height of your curse
Those footsteps that you’re looking for
They’re echoes in the hearse

Direction so unknown
A kiss without a home

Falling
Towards
Another
End of day

A mercy for the ones like we
Who see the world in colours three
Black, gold, too often grey